Three Part Harmony
by Hamilcar
Summary: AU. Harry lives after the final battle, leaving the three friends with a need to sort out their changed relationships - a process complicated and strained by Mary Jane's sudden pregnancy and the emergence of new villains. PxHxMJ
1. Prologue: Come Home in the Morning Light

OOO

Lonely and alienated and sad, Mary Jane Watson kissed Harry. Already she knew that it had gone too far, already some internal voice, some vestige of conscience, was berating her for betraying Peter with his best friend. That sensible part of her mind told her that she should be pulling away and ending the whole affair now before it got any worse.

Her hesitation lasted a moment too long, however. Harry's hands had started to wander down her body, sliding to her back and easing her body lower onto the couch. He was warm and eager and Peter was always busy, so busy, and when they did it was awkward and not like Harry, smooth and confident, nothing like Peter…

When the voice was finally loud enough to rouse her, she was tangled up in Harry's sheets. She left with as little explanation as she could, overcome with guilt and wondering how she could ever make it up to Peter.

In Harry's mind, the voice of the Goblin crowed. He drove the two apart, let Peter in on their secret without much regret. And when Peter eventually came over to confront him, as he knew he would, Harry smirked, told him how her kisses tasted, told him how beautiful he thought she was naked, told him how he'd fucked her.

Peter punched him for that and everything went rapidly downhill as their mutual fury escalated.

OOO

Seeing Harry's disfigured visage made Peter want to bolt, the sight of what he'd done nearly making him ill. Harry watched out of his one good eye as Peter struggled to clamp down on his horror and shame, forced himself to plead for Harry's help. Steeling himself, forcing himself to pretend he felt no pain, no empathy with the man who had once been his best friend, Harry turned his back literally and metaphorically.

"Get out," he hissed.

He had counted on Peter's guilt to cause him to leave, to go on his fool's errand trying to rescue Mary Jane yet again. Harry _wanted _him to leave, thought that he had put enough finality into the sound of his voice that Peter wouldn't be so stupid as to press him further.

Harry never expected Peter to come up behind him, touch his shoulder, _cry_.

"Please Harry. I know I've no right, but I need you to help me, please, I'll do anything… I need your help; I can't do it without you…" Peter tugged on Harry, as if his feeble touches could be enough to pull him along. His words, however, resonated the most.

Peter needed him. Needed him like he'd always had – or at least like he'd had back in high school, back when he was getting stuffed into lockers or having his head shoved down a toilet. There was no more arrogance, no more cruelty, nothing of the Peter that had scarred him. There wasn't even much of Spider-Man in his demeanor.

There was only nerdy Peter Parker, come to his best friend, his _only_ friend, begging.

So when Bernard came in with his too-late explanations and took away his last excuse, Harry did what he had rather wished to all along and grabbed his suit. And if he basked overmuch in the smile of gratitude that Peter gave him or explained away ulterior motives for helping Peter out, there wasn't anybody to say anything about it.

OOO

By the time the fight was over, Harry could have sworn that every bone in his body was broken and every muscle bruised. Mary Jane had wadded up a piece of her dress over his worst looking wound, but that was the only treatment he'd had. No matter how much he coughed, he couldn't expel the taste of blood from his mouth and his vision swam. A red and blue form landed next to him and, with a great deal of effort, he turned his head towards Spider-Man.

"Last time I ever help you out," he croaked.

"Harry? Harry, I'm going to get you out of here, I promise." Peter looked the other's body over, as if checking for anything he could do to help. "We'll get you back to the penthouse and then we'll go from there."

"Fuck, this hurts…" He sucked in a breath. "What about you?"

"Pretty sure my ribs are broken," Peter said, wrapping an arm around his midsection. "They might just be bruised though. I won't be going to the hospital, however."

"What? Why not?"

"Mask, Harry?" He staggered to his feet. "And speaking of which, we need to get out of here."

"Pete… I'm not sure I can move…" Harry struggled to sit up. "I don't think my legs are working. I don't think I can use the glider." Suddenly, as if a thought had just occurred to him, he looked around. "Pete? Where's MJ?"

"I lowered her down to get checked out and get home. We need to go soon, though, or they'll come up and find us."

"And that's bad because…?"

"Because I'd have every bad guy in the world after me once they knew my identity and you'd have to pay out of pocket for all the damage here tonight. This whole mess only happened because Eddie knew who I was."

"Eddie? You mean that goo-thing had a name?" Harry's body seized up with a fresh jolt of pain and he bit down on another scream. "Oh God, Pete…"

"Come on." Peter lifted him up. "I'm going to put you carefully across my shoulder, alright? I'll carry you back and then… and then we'll think of something."

With a grunt he hoisted Harry up and swung to the familiar penthouse, leaving behind the glider tucked away behind a girder. He did his best to keep the right smooth for his injured friend, all the while disturbingly reminded of the night Harry had first come after him, the night he'd hit his head, had forgotten who he was and yet somehow become himself again.

"Ow!" Harry sucked in a breath as Peter dragged him through the balcony windows. "Peter!"

"Sorry, Harry, I'm doing the best I can." He carried Harry over to the couch and eased him onto it before pulling off his own mask. "Sit tight, Harry, I'll be right back. Where do you keep the first aid stuff?"

"Bathroom down the hall, medicine cabinet." He pointed with his free hand.

"Good. Just keep the pressure on that wound and we'll get it taken care of."

By the time Peter came back, Harry had managed to divest himself of his helmet and shoes. He was still pressing a torn off wad of Mary Jane's dress against a gash in his side, his fingers stained vermillion. Nudging the hand aside, Peter daubed water on it to clean it off then pressed fresh gauze from the kit against the wound.

He dressed and taped it up before moving on to other concerns.

"What if one of us has a concussion?" Harry asked as Peter stripped off his shirt and began daubing alcohol on Harry's lacerations, wincing at the sting of the disinfectant. "What if we're bleeding internally? What if something's really messed up inside of us?"

"I don't know Harry." Peter bit his lip. "I haven't really ever gotten hurt this badly before. I mean, not that I know of. Whatever is in me, it kinda… it takes care of it. That's the only way I can explain it."

Harry nodded and seemed lost in thought for a moment. "You think the formula will do that for me too? You think I'll be alright?"

"Maybe." He looked up at Harry. "You want me to concoct some type of cover story, call over an ambulance?"

He scoffed. "And what cover story would that be? That we decided to beat the hell out of one another for fun? Besides, don't you think the cops are going to get suspicious if I keep coming in with mysterious, horrifying injuries?"

He cracked a smile and, despite the pain they were both still in, Peter returned the grin. It only lasted a moment, however, before his expression grew serious.

"I really don't know what to do, Harry," he fretted. "I don't want you to get permanently injured. And what if something gets infected?"

"Hell, Pete. I've got no idea either. Wish it would stop hurting, though."

"Here." Peter passed him a bottle of aspirin. "I grabbed these too. I'll get us some water."

By the time he returned with a couple of glasses, Harry had already taken several pills. Reaching for the water he washed them down.

"Do they ever help much?"

"Sometimes," Peter shrugged before medicating himself. "I suppose I could try to get something stronger."

"Meaning?"

"You know. Sneak into a hospital or something like that."

"Nah." Harry shook his head. "Don't bother. Too big a risk you'll get caught. You're a hero," he said with a wry smile. "You can't be seen pinching percoset or something. Besides, I've heard how addictive painkillers can be and, to be frank, given my record with alcohol, I'd rather not risk it."

Peter looked at him, nervous. "You're not going to do that anymore, are you Harry?" He asked timidly. "You shouldn't, it's bad for your health and you're not the same and it will…"

"No, Peter." He leaned up against the pillows of the couch. "I'm not going to do that."

The look of relief that washed over Peter's visage gave Harry a little thrill, something that only grew when Peter draped himself on Harry's torso, resting his head on his chest, as if he needed to hear Harry's heartbeat to prove that he was alive.

"I'm so glad you aren't dead," he breathed. "I'm so glad I didn't lose you again."

"I'm glad I didn't lose me too," Harry spoke sardonically then softened when he saw the look on Peter's face. "I'm really am glad, though. Glad that there are no more secrets between us. And I'm sorry about so much. About hunting you, doubting you, about MJ…"

"Never happened, buddy," Peter assured him. "As far as I'm concerned, it never happened."

"We just forget?"

"Voluntary amnesia," Peter told him with the hint of a smile at his lips.

Harry closed his eyes and thought of the previous months and years, the time gone by that he regretted and the times that he deeply missed.

"You know," he murmured, "I used to…"

Before he could go further, however, he heard a soft inhale-exhale pattern and opened his eyes to find Peter asleep using his chest as a pillow. The pressure ached in a dull sense, but not too badly; since his lower body was still out of commission, Harry wiggled a bit to get comfortable before clumsily draping the afghan from the back of the couch over Peter. Resting his hand on Peter's head, he closed his eyes again, this time for good.

"Good night, buddy," he whispered.

OOO

A/N: A long time ago I promised a DatG length P/H/MJ story. This is that story.


	2. Been Beat Up and Battered Around

OOO

Peter woke with a yawn and a cough, rubbing his eyes to get the sleep out of them. There was a damp spot on the fabric where his head had been resting and he blushed when he realized that he'd been drooling while he slept, leaving a small puddle of saliva on Harry's chest. Wiping his mouth, he hoped it would dry before Harry woke up.

The air inside the room was chilly and he realized that the windows were open. Pulling the afghan they'd been sleeping under around himself, he went over and shut them before going back to look at Harry. Bereft of anything but the shirt and boxers he wore under his Goblin armor, Peter could see the damage that had been done the previous evening. The wounds had red-black, lumpy scabs already covering them and his flesh, what Peter saw of it, was mottled yellow and purple with bruises in various stages of appearance. With his head tilted to the side, his facial scars were readily visible too, but Peter tried not to look at those.

His gaze trailing further down, it was easy to see why Harry hadn't been able to get on his glider. Both of his knees were extremely swollen and it was clear, even from a glance, that they'd sustained some type of severe trauma. Experimentally Peter leaned over and poked Harry's right knee – a big mistake.

"Jesus Christ!" Harry bolted upright, as much as he was able. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Peter threw his hands up in the air and backed away. "Shouldn't have done that!"

Harry winced as he pulled himself into a sitting position, his knees still stretched out straight in front of him. "My legs are killing me. Especially the knees. Did you really have to do that?" He glared at Peter who was still blushing and looking away.

"Don't know what I was thinking. Can you bend them at all?"

"Hurts like hell to do that. And whenever I try and stand up it feels like they're going to collapse on me." He sighed. "So any ideas about what we should do?"

"Got a computer?"

"On the desk. Why?"

"Maybe if we enter the symptoms we can find what's wrong and we'll be able to figure something out. Let's see – you said instability, pain, swelling, all that, right?"

"That about sums it up."

"Lets see then…" Harry looked over to see Peter typing away and clicking on various links. Then his face fell. "Shit."

"That doesn't sound good. What is it? What's wrong with me?"

"I think you might have a torn ACL." He clicked a few more times. "Yeah, I don't think we can be sure without an MRI. But I'm pretty sure that's what it is. That and probably a few other injuries."

"Are you absolutely _sure_?" Harry shifted nervously. "And if it is torn, what do we do?"

"There is a test, but it will probably hurt. You should probably take a few more painkillers before we do it. As for fixing it… that's a bit of a problem." Peter closed the lid of the laptop and sat on the arm of the couch, looking down at Harry. "According to everything I read, it's the kind of injury that needs surgery. Major surgery, with rehab afterwards."

"Fantastic," Harry groaned. "Let's at least make sure that's what it is, though. What's the test?"

"Bending your knee in the opposite direction to see if it encounters any resistance from the ligament. If it doesn't that means the ACL's probably shredded."

"Yeah, that's sounds really painful. Painkillers, please. And do you think I could get some breakfast too? I mean, if you don't feel like it, you can call Bernard, that's what he's here to do. But I am starving."

"No, it's fine. I got you into this, I should help." Peter stood. "Anything you want?"

"Whatever's easiest," Harry shrugged. "I think there are some blueberry waffles in the fridge. Microwave a couple of those."

"Alright. I'm pretty hungry too," Peter admitted, going to get the food.

He came back about fifteen minutes later, balancing a couple of plates along with glasses of milk and syrup. Harry laughed when he saw it as Peter handed him a glass before setting the plates and the syrup down on the floor. He passed one of them to Harry who was still grinning, despite the pain Peter knew he had to be feeling.

"Good to know that if the hero business doesn't work out, you always have waiting tables."

"Funny." Peter rolled his eyes and dumped syrup over the waffles. "Want some?"

"Sure." Harry made a puddle of syrup on his own plate before folding a waffle and dipping it in the goop. "You know, maybe you can talk to MJ, get her to set you up with a job."

"Yeah, so I can flake out on that too and get fired after a couple weeks." He cut a waffle with the side of his fork. "Besides, even knowing what happened I don't think she's going to be too keen on seeing me right away. Between that and my spotty attendance, other than freelance photography, I doubt any form of steady, gainful employment is anywhere in the near future."

"Which is exactly why you should stay here," Harry promptly responded while shoving the rest of a waffle into his mouth.

"Harry, that's gross."

"What? Staying here?" He washed it down with half the glass of milk. "I'm messy but I'm not that bad."

"You know what I meant. Anyway, you know how I feel about living here. I don't want to live off anybody's charity – not even yours."

"It isn't charity! It's… it's friendship!" He ran his hand along the plate to get the last of the syrup. "Besides, you just said you would."

"Wait, _what? _I never said that!"

"Sure you did. You told me that since you felt responsible for getting my legs messed up, you were going to help." Harry shoved his empty plate at Peter. "And since I can barely walk, that's going to mean staying here to help me out until I recover." He grinned up at Peter with a satisfied smile, as if he thought he were quite clever.

"Fine, you win," he sighed, taking the plate. "But only for a little while. You understand, right? I'm only going to hang around until you get your knees fixed and are back up to speed. I'm not living here, I can't. Just for a short time."

"Of course," Harry nodded. "That's all I'm asking."

Peter glanced at him suspiciously, wondering what Harry might be plotting. But he _was_ responsible and he did say he'd help.

"Why do I think this isn't going to end that easily?" He mumbled, taking the plates back into the kitchen.

When he came back, Harry was throwing back more of the aspirin. Peter gave him another glass of water and Harry washed them down.

"So tell me, while we're waiting for these to kick in… do I look as bad as I feel?"

Peter blanched and then hedged. "It's not… I mean, really, other than what you'd expect… I mean, given all that's…"

"I get it." Harry cut him off. "I really look like shit, don't I?" He reached up and felt the scars.

A lump formed in Peter's throat and he gaped, unsure of what to say. "I didn't mean…"

"I'm not blaming you. I'm frustrated, that's all." Harry looked down. "My visions weird too, you know? When I went last night I was real worried it might have messed up my depth perception or something. I seemed to be throwing straight, though, so I guess that's okay at least. Don't know what to do about everything else, though."

"Maybe… Maybe plastic surgery?"

"Performed by the same doctor we need to dig up to fix my ACL without talking?" Harry suggested wryly before shaking his head. "I guess. It might help. But I feel so… what am I supposed to do now? Stay inside all the time? I can't go out anywhere without feeling like people are staring, looking at me. Not like I could go out right now anyway. But now…"

"I don't think you're ugly," Peter whispered, an assurance that he realized came not from placating his own guilt but from a genuine feeling that it was true. Harry's flesh was twisted and served as a hurtful reminder, but Harry himself was… well, he was still Harry. And Harry would always be beautiful.

Harry seemed to pick up on the sincerity of the words and nodded. "Thanks." He made himself smile, twisting the scars when he did. "Besides, it's not like I had anybody else to be pretty for; all the women were after my money, the people I work with my favor. If going through everything meant getting my best friend back, it was worth it." Peter said nothing, but gave him a smile bright as day; when he did, the excited flip Harry had felt the previous evening when Peter laid his head down on his chest returned. "And speaking of injuries, I think the aspirin have kicked in," he said rapidly, breaking the moment.

"Alright, then. Let's try this. I'll go slow and if it hurts too much, let me know – preferably verbally instead of physically – and I'll stop."

Harry nodded and Peter gingerly tried to bend the knee upwards. The leg moved easily as Harry gasped.

"Definitely torn," Peter said morosely.

"Well damn." Harry picked at a scab on his arm. "I guess we should probably change the dressing on these too."

"Yeah." Peter looked over. "Not much left in the med kit though."

"I can give you some cash to go out and buy replacements. Before you go, though, one request."

"What's that?"

"This couch isn't exactly comfortable." Harry gave him a little smile. "Help me into bed?"

"And it begins," Peter said, rolling his eyes, but in a tone that indicated more teasing than annoyance. "Come on, let's get going. Can you walk at all, do you think?"

"Maybe stumble a little, but you'll have to support me. And not like last night either. I'm an injured person, not a sack of potatoes."

"Alright! I know!" Peter slipped his arm around Harry. "Ready?"

"Ready."

OOO

Peter had barely returned from his shopping trip when the phone in Harry's bedroom rang.

"It should say what the number is on the screen," Harry told him with a bit of a yawn. "If it's nobody important…"

"It's MJ," Peter told him, looking down at the phone while unwinding a roll of gauze.

"Oh. Well." Harry looked at Peter uncertainly. "You want to get it?"

"Okay." Peter picked it up. "Hi, MJ. Yeah, it's Pete. I'm over Harry's. We're okay, I mean, relatively… you got released? Well that's good." He paused. "A few. My ribs are feeling better but I think Harry's ACL is torn." Pause. "It is bad and he will need a doctor. Yeah were going to try and figure that out. Maybe once we both heal a little so it doesn't look too suspicious." He pulled the phone away from his mouth. "She wants to know if she can come over," he whispered to Harry.

"Um… I guess? I mean, are you okay with that?"

"If you are," he whispered.

"Sure, it's fine."

"I'll tell her." He put the phone back up to his mouth. "I talked to him. He's going to be in bed for a while. We're both pretty beat. But sure, come over. I'll let you in." A second time, he looked up. "She wants to know if she should bring anything over."

"Well, uh… food maybe?" He winced, apologetic. "I don't think I'm going to be doing any cooking for a while. Tell here anything's fine."

Peter nodded. "Food. Pizza or Chinese or whatever. We're not picky. Whatever you want. Sure. About an hour? Alright, we'll see you then." He hung up the phone with a click.

"So. Mary Jane is coming over."

"Yeah." Peter resumed cleaning out the lacerations. "Are you going to be alright? I can call her back, tell he you need sleep."

"No. It's fine." He looked at Peter. "Did she sound, you know, angry or upset or anything?"

Peter shook his head. "I think she's just glad everybody's alive."

Harry nodded. "Well that's good."

"And she's bringing food." Peter removed the old bandages and washed out the wounds.

"So you said."

"Well." He taped the gauze over the largest laceration on Harry's side.

"Yeah." Harry spread Neosporin over the smaller abrasions.

"It'll be good to see her."

"Definitely." Harry carefully placed Band-Aids on whatever was still bleeding.

"And she's out of the hospital? Nothing really wrong?"

"That's what she told me."

"Good, good."

"So, I'm, uh… I think I'm going to go throw away the old bandages. You can get some rest before she gets here if you like."

"Okay. You'll wake me up before she gets here?"

"Sure. Mind if I shower?"

"Go right ahead." Harry turned over. "I know you'll want to look your best."

"Harry…"

"It's fine!" He shooed Peter towards the bathroom. "One of us might as well be presentable."

Peter wasn't quite sure how to react to the impending visit or Harry's attitude and went into the shower, turning the hot water on full blast, hoping that the visit wasn't a mistake that could shatter all that had been so tenuously mended.

OOO


	3. Hide My Guilt and Shame

OOO

"So while you were in the bathroom, I came up with a plan," Harry said the moment Peter stepped out, dripping water onto the rug.

"Oh? What is it?" Peter's muffled voice came from beneath a towel as he dried his hair. "Have you thought of a doctor you can trust?"

"Not exactly." Harry flicked through channels, keeping his eyes on the dresser on the television. "What I was thinking was this. I'll give you the money and you can get me a wheelchair from a med supply store. That way I can get around so I won't starve to death or anything and it'll buy me some time to get a little better, look a little less suspicious. Then, once I don't look like I've just come out of a meat grinder, we can go to the emergency room, say something about getting messed up playing football or basketball."

"Yeah, I guess that sounds plausible." Peter wrapped the towel around his neck and cinched the belt on his robe before sitting at the foot of the bed. "So what are you watching?"

"Dunno." Harry shrugged. "Just channel surfing."

"Anything look good?"

"Uh, let's see… a bunch of crazy bitches are trying to sleep with some washed up pop star… there's a fishing competition on one of the lesser forms of ESPN… something about making a cake shaped like a Gibson guitar… a beat up Dodge is getting a neon paint job, rims and three televisions…. there's a PBS special on the Third Reich… a twelve hour Law and Order marathon – the one about rape not the regular one…"

"Why don't I just get a DVD until MJ gets here?" Peter offered.

"You know where they are."

They were about half-way through _Office Space_ when the bell rang, indicating the MJ was waiting.

"I'll go let her in," said Peter, quickly trading the robe for a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt nabbed from Harry's drawer. Harry snapped off the TV and told himself he wasn't watching.

Peter returned with the red head moments later, a pizza in tow. "I didn't know what you guys wanted, so I went with pepperoni." She flashed a dazzling smile at Peter who was passing around paper plates and setting aside a few cans of pop he'd pulled out of the fridge.

"That'll work," Harry said as he took a Mountain Dew from Peter. "Set it on the bed, it should be fine."

"So you two are doing alright?" MJ asked Peter as she nibbled on a piece, clutching a napkin. "That was… it was all pretty awful."

"Yeah. Harry's got some healing to do but we've got something worked out."

"Well that's good." She looked at the floor. "Nice having things back to relatively normal."

"Yeah, yeah," said Peter, finishing off his first slice and reaching for another. "Normal as it gets."

"Still working at that café? Or have you found something else?" Harry asked.

MJ shrugged and looked down at her pizza. "I have an audition an audition later this week but I'm not sure how it will work out. So I'm still at the jazz club for the moment, until you hear otherwise."

The small talk went back and forth for a while until the pizza was gone and MJ stood to leave. She gave Peter a hug and Harry a quick nod before heading for the elevator. Harry watched the door where she'd exited until he heard the ding of the elevator. His face twisted and he threw a pillow at the door with a grunt.

"Harry?" Peter stopped picking up the plates and empty cans. "What's the matter?"

"She wouldn't even look at me," he hissed before turning over in the bed. "She couldn't even stomach looking me in the face. I risk everything to save her and she won't even…!" He choked up.

"Harry, don't do that, you'll hurt your legs!"

"What the fuck do you care?" He snapped. "Get out of here! Just go! I'm sure she's waiting to talk to you alone!"

"Harry…"

"GO!"

Peter looked at him apprehensively before walking quietly out of the door. He wasn't sure he ought to leave Harry alone, and he was pretty sure his friend was going to regret his tantrum very quickly, but he figured that a conversation with Mary Jane might be a good idea as well. She was gone by the time he reached the penthouse entrance, but since it was her off day he figured she would be at her apartment.

He caught a cab and was soon standing in front of her door, waiting for her to open it.

"Hello Peter." She beamed when she saw him. "You want to come in?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He took a seat at the kitchen table.

"Can I get you anything? I've got pop, beer, water, tea…"

"No I'm good."

"Mind if I make some for myself?"

"Not at all." He fidgeted. "MJ, was something wrong today?"

"Wrong?" She looked at him curiously as she dipped a bag of orange pekoe into steaming water. "No. Why?"

He looked her carefully; the smile was still there but she seemed to have paled, just slightly. "Harry was… Harry got a bit upset after you left." Peter coughed. "He thinks you were deliberately trying to avoid looking at him. I know his injury is upsetting, but he's still the same old Harry, MJ. No matter what he looks like. He needs us." Peter looked at her, wide-eyed. "I mean, it's hard, I know, after everything… but do you think you could behave like the old days?"

Mary Jane looked at him from across the top of her mug. Her mouth felt dry but the tea was still to hot. Instead, she set down the mug, trying to get a handle on herself. "Peter, that wasn't… Peter, I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's alright." He gave her a small smile and took her hand. "We've gotten through the worst of it; we'll get through this too. I know you're only human but he's my best friend. And no matter what passed between us, he was – is – your friend too. We've got to be there for him, not treating him like he's a pariah."

She nodded. "I'm sorry about… and I really have missed you," she murmured. "I was terrified you were going to die. I kept wishing…" She laughed. "Oh, but you didn't." She walked around behind his chair and started to massage his shoulder. "You didn't."

Peter felt his muscles being worked at by her fingers and he relaxed into her touch. "Mmmmmm." He closed his eyes. "A little lower?"

"You like that?" She grinned. "I'm not touching anything bruised, am I?"

"No, no, it's good."

"Good." She wrapped her arms around him from behind, knelt and set her head on his shoulder. "Didn't know how much you meant until you were practically dying. And I wanted to…" She tightened her grip. "Peter?" She kissed his cheek. "Peter, I think… I would feel so much better if we would finally…"

Peter felt her fluttering and knew what her request was. He vaguely wondered if the timing was appropriate but her hands were wandering and he was remembering all the reasons he had ever been drawn to Mary Jane. She dazzled him with a smile and pulled him out of the chair by the hand, leading him to her room. The blue striped sheets he fell down on had the scent of fabric softener and Peter inhaled the floral fragrance while Mary Jane worked at his belt.

He lifted his shirt up and she looked at it with a shock of realization; while his eyes were still closed she kicked it underneath the bed so she couldn't see it before unbuttoning her own shirt. She kissed Peter, pushed him up against the headboard while he fumbled with her bra, and pulled him close in an effort to forget. Peter moved with her, unsurely at first, but gaining confidence as she whispered encouragement.

The confidence evaporated once they had finished as each lay to one side, lost in their own thoughts.

Thoughts tacked Peter's mind, one after another – guilt at having done this after MJ had slighted Harry, fear that he wasn't all he should have been, the slight feeling that all wasn't as it should be, the general air of anxiety he always felt whenever a situation become remotely sexual but compounded – and made him shift uneasily.

And on the other side of the bed, Mary Jane thought about all she hadn't been able, had been ashamed to tell Peter. Seeing Harry on the bed that way, seeing Peter wearing Harry's shirt… she felt guilty to her core about what had happened days before in Harry's penthouse and even her attempts to 'make it up' to Peter seemed flimsy. She loved him, cared about him… but there was Harry too. She wasn't trying to avoid him out of fear; she was trying to suppress what she felt.

She couldn't look without remembering and she couldn't remember without questioning. Tugging the pillow closer, she tried to push down questions of who she might choose, if only in another time and place, if only things had happened different.

Now, though, she was practically engaged to Peter. They were supposed to be together. They were supposed…

"Peter?" She asked without turning when she heard the bedsprings creak. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "I promised… Harry still can't get around really well. He was mad but I don't think he meant it. I should go and check on him."

He was out of the door a moment later and Mary Jane pulled the covers over, hoping to get some sleep.

"Harry…" She sighed and closed her eyes.

OOO

Peter hoped he wasn't blushing when he stepped back into Harry's bedroom.

"Still mad?" He asked.

"How did you get in here?" Harry demanded. "I told you to go away and had Bernard lock the door!"

"I took a key." Peter sat down on the bed. "I knew you didn't mean it, right?" He set his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I mean, even if you have Bernard to help you, it's not the same is it?"

He said nothing for a while. "No, I guess not," he finally sighed. "Fine. I didn't mean it. Is that what you want me to say?"

"Is it true?"

Harry twisted around, the pain flexing his face into a wince. "Yeah. I guess it is." He faced Peter and an eyebrow shot up. "Pete, did you put that shirt on backwards?"

Peter glanced down. "Oh. Um. I, uh…" He hastily pulled his arms back in through the sleeves and twisted the shirt around.

"You were gone a pretty long time." Harry looked at him critically. "What were you talking about? You didn't… you _did_."

Peter, beet red, turned away. "Sorry. We did talk about… she was sorry. She'll get better," Peter said, exaggerating her response, he hoped, only slightly. "She was a bit shocked, is all. It's only the first time she's seen you since that night and she isn't used to fights and brawls like I am. Don't be too critical."

Instead, Harry looked annoyed. "How do you go over there wanting to talk to her about me and end up sleeping with her!"

"She was… look, she's under a lot of stress and she was worried about my dying… it just happened, okay?" _Like other things 'just happened'_ he wanted to add but bit his tongue. Forgetting wasn't as easy as one might think, he realized, barring concussion-induced amnesia.

"MJ always was emotionally…" He trailed off with a sigh and nodded. "So. Then. Did the deed."

"Yeah, I guess." Peter hunched his shoulders.

"How was it?" Harry asked apprehensively, memories of his disastrous time with Mary Jane surfacing, unbidden.

"You know, I'd really rather not talk about it." Peter stood restlessly. "It happened, it was fine. I mean… never mind. I just don't…"

"It's alright. Forget I asked." Harry pushed himself up. "Do we know how we're going to go about doing this wheelchair thing? I mean, I figured I could get by with just a regular manual one. No need to get anything electric, I'm only going to need it for a little while."

"Are you sure? They're probably harder to operate than they look," Peter pointed out, grateful for the change of topic. "I'm sure you can easily afford it. And are you worried at all about how handicapped accessible this place is? Wheelchair or not, you aren't going to be able to negotiate steps very easily."

"I'll have to stay on the first floor. Maybe we could move the bed down here so it would be easier to get to it?"

"By 'we' you mean 'me,'" said Peter with a wry smile that Harry returned. "That makes sense, though. Lucky I've got the proportional strength of a spider," he said with a wink. "And I'll get you the chair – if you move the bed down here you should be able to get to the kitchen and the living room without much trouble."

"Good. It's only for a week or so and hopefully… well, let's just hope I can figure out how to work that thing."

"If not, I did promise to stay here. I can push you around."

Harry laughed. "First time that's happened in a long while."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Funny. Aside from getting the money and then the chair, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Well… I really do feel like I could use a bath." A flush crept onto his face. "So to keep it from being awkward I though I could take off everything down to my boxers and you could help me into the tub like that. I mean, it wouldn't be any different from being at the beach with me or something, right? Not really that bad."

"Yeah, yeah," Peter agreed with a nod. "I can run the water and lift you in."

"I should be done by the time you get back and then… well, yeah. That's that. Right?"

"Sure, sure. I'll run the water."

As the tub filled, Harry removed his shirt to reveal the bandages underneath. They were nearly soaked through again, something Peter noticed as soon as he came back in the room.

"Should you really be bathing with those on?"

"It looks worse than it is, Pete." Harry gingerly peeled away the gauze. "See? It's scabbing…"

"Harry, it was a horrific puncture wound that could have pierced half your organs. I don't think you should be getting soap inside it."

"It's practically sealed up already. And it will be good to get off some of this sweat and dirt and blood. Really. I don't even need soap; I only want to soak for a while."

"If you're sure. It makes me nervous, though…"

"Then how about this? Have Bernard give you his cell and I'll take mine in and that way I can call you if anything awful happens."

"I guess." Peter looked down at Harry. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

Carefully, Peter lifted him up, bride-style, Harry's body tense against his own. "You alright? I'm not hurting you?"

"I'm fine," Harry's voice strained.

"Okay." Peter lowered him into the water while immediately became tainted with red. "Does that feel good?"

"Wonderful," Harry murmured.

"Alright then. I'll be back soon. Be careful, don't pick too much at the scabs…"

"Don't worry," Harry said, closing his eyes and sliding into the water. "I'll be fine."

Once Peter was gone, once he could be sure he was alone, Harry slid his hand beneath the damp elastic waistband of his boxers.

"Fuck," he groaned.

OOO

A/N: So apparently I can't resist bathing scenes. More updates to come, as often as possible.


	4. Dream of Better Lives

OOO

Apart from the mortification that would ensue should Peter ever find out about his thoughts, Harry was grateful he was alone if only to avoid embarrassment over how he was handling it. He looked down into the murky bathwater and glowered as best he could at the stubborn bulge in his boxers that pulsed just beneath the water's surface.

"Stop that!" He ordered. "Peter's your friend! And not like that! Peter… Jesus. Seriously! I mean it, quit it right now!"

Harry was pretty sure there was a word for what he was doing – a stray memory from a long ago English class tickled the back of his mind – but he couldn't recall and it didn't make him feel any less ridiculous. Giving up with verbal commands, he got himself off for a third time while the water was draining and proceeded to twist the knobs for water as cold as he could make it. He ended up shivering in the rub with goose bumps riddling his flesh. And for a moment he thought it had worked. Then he heard the sound of Peter's voice.

Like a dutiful little periscope, his erection returned.

"Shit," he spat under his breath.

"Are you doing alright in here?" Peter opened the door a crack and peered in. "Are you ready to get out.

"Fine!" Harry drew his legs up to his chest, feeling his wounds scream as he did. "Did you find the wheelchair?"

"Yeah, I just got done bringing it up. Do you need some help getting out?"

"Why don't you give me a towel so I can drain the tub and get dried off and pull it over here."

"Sure." Peter reached into the linen closet just inside the door and tossed a thick blue towel to Harry.

He pushed in the chair moments later as Harry was wrapping the towel around his waist. Peter lifted Harry carefully and helped him into the chair when Harry's eyes widened and he snapped his fingers.

"Apostrophe!"

"What?" Peter looked down in confusion.

"Never mind," Harry said with a blush. "Got any clothes?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, passing Harry a folded shirt and pair of pajama pants. "Need any help putting anything on?"

"I think I've got it," Harry replied a touch too quickly and he force a smile when Peter looked confused. "I want to be sure I can do stuff for myself. Don't want to be too dependant," he said with a stiff laugh.

"Okay." Peter nodded. "Do you want to be pushed?"

"Just to get me out to the hall. After that I think I'd like to try using this myself."

"Here we go then." Peter rolled him carefully back onto the carpet and from the bedroom to the hall.

"Should be pretty straightforward, right?" Harry took a deep breath and grasped the wheels.

Two hours later and Harry's arms were aching. He looked over at Peter who was trying in vain to contain his laughter.

"Oh, let's see you do this," he snapped. "Maybe I should have gone with the electric."

"Maybe you should have." Peter stood up from where he was leaning against the wall and gasped the handles. "Where do you want to go from here?"

"Probably to my desk. I still have a company, you know. In a way."

Peter pushed him into the great room then set aside the high backed chair that normally sat in front of the desk so that there would be room to wheel Harry in. While Harry clicked away, Peter looked around the room.

"Ever thought of changing this place?"

"What?" Harry looked up from a spreadsheet. "Sorry, didn't catch that."

"I asked if you ever thought about doing something to this place. You know, removing some of the masks, maybe putting up some memorabilia, getting rid of that really creepy painting of your father – no offense."

"None taken," Harry laughed. "He doesn't exactly look welcoming does he?" Harry said, a distant look shadowing his eyes. "Then again, he never did. I'm not in much a position to take it down now – and I have no idea what I would replace it with – but I guess I'll get around to it."

"I could do it," Peter offered with a suddenness that surprised both of them. "I mean, I think I have a pretty good idea of what you like. Why don't you let me try my hand at changing this place around for you?"

"Seriously?" Harry chuckled. "How big a bankroll do you think you'd need?"

"Don't know – how different would you want this place to look? You know," he went on, sitting down as he did, "I think Home Depot sells paint colors that match the schemes of specific teams. We could redo the room in, say, Celtics colors."

"Anything _not_ involving green?" Harry asked with a rueful smile as he typed out a memo to one of the numerous executives. "I like basketball, but maybe not that much."

"Alright, it was just a thought. Painting is a lot of work anyway. You know, I'll be if I look I have some pictures of us. That might be nice too along with whatever else I can find."

"Might as well," Harry said with a shrug. "It couldn't look much more ominous or depressing than it already does."

"It's a plan then," Peter said with a nod. "I'll probably do it sometime this week."

"No rush," Harry agreed. "Speaking of which, do you have any homework you need to do? I can lend you my computer if you need it. I'm almost done and I don't really think it's that important anyway, what I'm doing."

"I'd hate to impose." Peter bit his lip nervously and Harry rolled his eyes in response.

"Look, Pete, it's not an imposition if I offer."

"I guess it would make things easier… alright, but only for a little while."

Peter worked while Harry watched television. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"Not at all," said Peter, making a note on a piece of scrap paper. "Almost done anyway."

"So are you going to get going soon then?"

"Probably. Unless you need me to stay," Peter said in a carefully neutral voice.

"I might feel a little more comfortable if you did," said Harry, equally neutral. "I'm still not sure I can get easily in and out of bed and if something happens in the middle of the night…"

"Yeah, yeah. Understandable. I should probably check in on MJ once, though. You know." Peter flushed.

"Yeah, I know," Harry murmured. "Go on then." Peter stood up from the computer and disappeared into the elevator. "But be back soon," Harry whispered to himself.

The sun was slipping downwards, lengthening the shadows around the room. Harry tried to get back to work but found himself too distracted. Peter was right; the room was far too much his father's and not enough his own to be really comfortable. And, painful though his injury was, he found a grim bright side in that it gave him a legitimate reason to miss work. He hadn't been back since the fight with Peter and was worried about what the reaction to his thickly scarred features would be. Besides, he realized, he wasn't suited for the role; he knew it and those under him knew it and he wondered how long it would be until he was thrown out, point blank.

Struggling to navigate the chair, he positioned himself in front of the window and watched the sun set, the last rosy rays getting swallowed up by the twinkling cityscape. He thought about his repaired friendships with no small twinge of worry – tried not to focus on the twin strands of sexual longing that always made him edgy and now seemed amplified – and he wondered if he might hope that things could finally change.

Unclouded by either amnesia or a desire for revenge, Harry though, perhaps for the first time, about the fact that his fat her was really and truly dead, that Norman didn't have any more say in his life. He'd always been wealthy, always been someone of means – but for the first time Harry felt like he really had possibilities.

OOO

This time, instead of the door, Peter tapped on Mary Jane's window. She lifted it up and he stepped into the kitchen with a grin. "Doing alright?"

"I'm fine." She was clutching another cup of tea and smiling like her face was set. "Was Harry alright?"

"He's doing okay. Got him a wheelchair so he can get around a little bit better now." Peter ran a hand through his hair. "Probably going to go back there, make sure he gets through the night alright, but I wanted to check on you first." He searched her face. "Are you doing well? I know I left a bit suddenly…"

"I'm… yeah." She sighed and nodded. "I'm okay. You know, Peter," she said looking up, "I know everything has gone a bit… badly the last few weeks. But I was wondering if maybe we should get married."

"What?" He felt his heart jump into his throat. "MJ… I mean, but why…"

"You were going to propose, weren't you? And I was worried that it was going to be a bit much but… well, just think Peter if you got injured. I wouldn't even be able to see you in the hospital since I'm not family. I wouldn't be able to do anything for you, wouldn't have any say in the matter unless I were your wife. And Aunt May… she's a darling and I love her, but would you really want her to have to make those decisions?"

"I… well, I guess I never though about it like that before…" Peter mumbled and suddenly found himself distracted by the floor, the clock, the stove – anywhere but Mary Jane's face. "I just always assumed I'd get out of whatever I got into."

"I don't think that's really a safe assumption," Mary Jane said in a voice that gently chastised. "And we love each other, don't we? If we already have that, then why wait?"

"Maybe I should be a little more stable," Peter suggested. "I don't really have the money for a wedding right now, and I know you always wanted a white wedding with your family."

"I can adapt," she rejoined. "I had that – well, almost had that – with John and it wasn't all it sounded like. Lots of planning, details, worries about everything from the florist to the caterer. This could be a small affair. Just you and me."

"And Harry," he interjected.

"What?" Her voice dropped and her breathing suspended.

"You know," he said quizzically. "I'd need a best man? And I wouldn't dream of picking any body else for the job. We'd need a witness or two anyway and he'd be perfect."

"Oh. Oh," she said, her features relaxing in relief. "Sure, he could be your best man. I suppose I could ask one of the girls from high school, if I needed to, or maybe one of my actress friends. But something short, quick – cheap. It doesn't have to be a fancy affair, just us and a public official. That's really all I need."

"Are you sure?" Peter looked at her askance. "It's not that I don't want to. But why the sudden rush? You seemed so reluctant before, even without, you know, the threats and the urging. Why the 360?"

"I just… I think we should! It makes sense, Peter! We don't know what will happen from day to day, especially with you living the way that you do. It would give us some stability, some options if the worst should happen." She drew close to him and pulled him into a kiss. "I love you so much and I think I'm ready to commit to that," she murmured.

Peter looked at her, feeling panic rising in his chest. "I love you too MJ, but…"

"But what?" She looked pained. "You were the one who wanted this to begin with."

"I know that. But… I don't think I realized… look, this is a big step, okay? I need a little time to think." He quickly kissed her again, as if to reassure her of his feelings. "I love you though, and I do want to get married. I only want to be sure this is the right time and that we're doing this for the right reasons, not because we're panicked."

She nodded, mute, and stepped back. "I suppose you'd better get back to Harry then."

"I should. I'll talk to you tomorrow, though," he promised before stepping back out onto her fire escape.

Once he'd vanished into the darkness she shut the window with a slam.

Hopefully he would come around, quickly. Because if he didn't, she wasn't sure how long she could hold out without wavering – and who knew what kind of mess that would cause? Ungenerously, she nearly wished one had died, if only to make her choice easier – then berated herself mentally for even considering wishing them harm.

Her confusion was her fault, she told herself. Hopefully, a firm commitment would cement the relationship and eliminate her doubts, give her a reason to further quash any other thoughts. It would help, though, if Peter would distance himself from Harry, she thought as she tossed the remained of the tea into the sink and leaned against the refrigerator, frustrated.

They would marry and it would work out, she told herself. It had to.

OOO


	5. Tease and Wound Me Bad

OOO

After he finished the lengthy process of getting himself cleaned and dressed, Harry spent a good part of his morning assuring Peter that he would be alright if left alone for the day, that Peter could go to class without worry.

"I know how to navigate the chair now," he assured him. "I'll be fine."

"If you're sure, then okay I guess." Peter looked at him, unconvinced. "But don't try to do anything too drastic, okay? No trying to get our of the chair or anything. You'll be in good enough shape to go to the doctor's in a couple days and until then, you shouldn't make it worse."

"I won't. Promise. I'll confine myself to paperwork, you have my word."

"Well then… okay. I'll go." Peter walked to the elevator. "But if anything goes wrong, call!"

"Okay!" Harry laughed. "I will!"

When Peter was gone, he clumsily rolled over to the desk where he began working. After cutting down on the overflow in his in-box, he began scrolling through the endless, wordy pages of a quarterly report. Passing over the words he never fully comprehended, he went almost immediately to the graphs, thankful for visual cues that could tell him what was happening.

Bored, he caught himself staring at graphs and reading the same passages over and over until eventually his mind wandered. Idly scrolling, he thought that he could almost map out the arc of his relationships in a graph.

Assuming he started at a baseline, high school had been a series of slow increases, getting closer and closer but never really developing into outright affection. Dipped when he felt betrayed, plummeted after his father died and Peter did nothing to help him find Spider-Man and then practically bottomed out when he found out Peter was the one behind the mask. There was another upward spike during his brief amnesic state when he returned to the blind friendliness of high school with all its unacknowledged, slightly frightening excitement.

Of course, the whole graph completely bottomed out when he remembered what had happened after falling in with MJ again, only to resurge once more during their last, worst fight, crawling higher than before. Pushed to the edge, he'd found himself hesitant to crash his glider to save Mary Jane but willing to get impaled for Peter.

Which brought him to the idea of a pie chart; because he didn't exactly not care for Mary Jane and it was a bit worrisome caring for Peter and he wondered, if he boiled it down to percentages, how much would be her and how much would be him and how much would be being too confused to act on anything. Of course, per what Peter had told him about the previous evening, they were probably going to marry each other, so the whole point was moot. It was like a Venn diagram; Peter intersects Mary Jane while Harry sits off to the side, a circle unto himself.

Shaking his head Harry looked at the computer screen and closed the report. Charts and graphs?

He was really spending way too much time alone thinking about this.

OOO

Mary Jane rang the doorbell impatiently; even if it would take Harry a while to get to the door, Peter should have been there almost immediately. What was keeping them? What would he possibly be doing? She glowered at the wrought iron door that covered the elevator and tapped her foot. This was really getting to be too much.

At last the doors parted and she hit the button for the penthouse. When they opened up again on the top floor, she found herself face to face with Harry and a vague sense of nausea hit her.

"Where's Peter?"

"He went out for the day to attend class." Harry jerkily steered the chair away from the door. "Sorry I wasn't faster but I'm not really good at maneuvering this thing yet. I'll probably be out of it before I ever get the chance; at least that's what I hope."

She nodded, still feeling faint. "And have you agreed on when you're going to get an operation?"

"We'll probably see the doctor in another few days." He slowly made his way down the hall and she slowed her steps to keep pace.

"Do you want me to push you?"

Harry looked down at his legs and sighed. "I don't really want to. I don't really… I don't like being reminded of how frustrating it is that I can't walk for now. But I don't want to keep you waiting. So I guess, if you want."

Mary Jane returned him to his desk before sitting down on the couch.

"Did Peter say when he was getting back?"

"No, he didn't." Harry kept his eyes turned towards his computer. "But probably sometime in the afternoon. I doubt his classes go later than five. Mine never did."

"Well you didn't exactly look for ones that would," she retorted. He glared and her face flexed in apology. "Sorry." He only shrugged. "I didn't mean anything by that." She cleared her throat and looked around the room. "Are some of the masks and pictures missing?"

"Yeah." He took a break from typing to look at a cleared portion of the wall. "Peter and I were talking about changing this place around, putting up some jerseys or posters instead of all these antiques."

""Yeah. That'll make it look good."

"Well, we hope so."

Mary Jane took a breath and looked over at Harry, still focused intently on his computer. She'd never seen him work particularly hard on anything, apart from desperately trying to capture his father's attention, when they were dating. Then, after the breakup, she hadn't really seen him much, during those months he'd been so driven by hunting down Spider-Man. He'd been single-minded then, but that motivation was taken away. And she wondered why he hadn't reverted back to the same lackadaisical guy from high school and early college. He no longer had his father's expectations or his want for vengeance so it seemed like he would have simply let matters slide.

But then again, they were all different now, she reflected.

"What are you working on?" She asked after several minutes had passed. He answered with another shrug.

"Company stuff. Reports, e-mails, all of that." He typed out another spate of words. "I haven't been there in a while so this is really the only way for me to stay on top of things."

"Are you going to keep doing that?"

"Maybe." Yet another shrug. "Right now I don't have much else to do. But once I get better, I can look at my options, see what else there is I might be interested in." With a final clacks of the keyboard, he looked up. "But I apologize. I'm being a bad host."

"No, no, not at all," she protested. "I'm distracting you. Maybe I should leave."

She made no move to get up however and instead fiddled with her purse, then one of the pillows. Harry glanced at her and shifted uneasily in his chair, wondering why she stayed. Peter was the one she had come to see and he wasn't here, so…

"Is there anything you'd like to eat or drink?" His voice was slightly shaded by a terse note.

"I'm good." She sighed and set aside the pillow she had been picking at, stood up and walked around, looking at the walls. "You'd think with all the pictures Peter takes, he'd have some of us."

"He said he did," Harry mentioned. "That he would try to find them."

Silently, MJ nodded, and then sat back down with her legs folded beneath her.

Harry had resumed looking at his computer; Mary Jane stretched out on the couch, propped her chin up on the arm of it and watched him as he worked. His normally smooth face was furrowed in concentration and though his face was turned, she could see where the contours of his skin twisted into scars. Despite the damage on the one side, what she could see still stirred her. Even with different lines on his face, his auburn hair still curled in the same careless way it had years ago, his eyes were still the same comforting coffee-brown.

His body was different too, she knew; leaner, stronger, changed like Peter's was by what he'd been through.

He looked up at her and she flinched.

"You're staring," he accused, feeling a rush of resentment. "I know, it looks bad, alright? I preferred you not looking at all to gawking like this." His typing resumed, sharper and angrier.

"Didn't mean… I wasn't _staring_," she murmured. "And I wasn't not looking because…oh, Harry." She sighed and walked over to him.

He felt like his body was seizing up as she draped her arms around his neck, buried her face in his hair. His hands fell away from the keyboard and instead gripped the arms of his chair.

"Don't do this," he said in a tense whisper, as it dawned on him why he was looking or not looking. "We've already been down this road and it doesn't work. Besides, Peter told me last night you wanted to get married."

"I do! I just… Can't you understand?" Her hands squeezed his shoulders. "If you don't distance yourself from me and Peter…"

"Wait, why do I have to distance myself?" He looked up at her, simultaneously agitated at what she was suggesting and how her scent was, as ever, wafting over and entrancing him. He tried to focus on the offenses. "Peter and I were good friends before you got between us and now you're saying I have to leave? Maybe you should leave! Do you even _want_ to marry Peter?!"

"Yes!" Her voice wavered. "He's kind and wonderful and understanding. He's the nicest person I know, when he's not being distracted by being Spider-Man. But you, you're…"

"Peter is Spider-Man," Harry said, trying to yank himself away and making the chair shudder in the process. "It's not something he plays at." Harry swallowed. "I think you need to leave."

"You wouldn't say anything?" She pled.

"Just get out!" He tried to back the chair away.

"Harry, if you get upset like that you're going to fall out of that chair!"

"I don't care, I just want you to leave," he panted. "Why did you even come over?"

"Peter and I have to… as though you would understand!" She fumed and turned away, grabbing her purse. "I thought you cared about me, I thought you _loved_ me!"

She moved as fast as she could, tears filling her eyes and doubt filling her mind. Stupid to have come over, not knowing what she wanted, stupid to have looked, to have compared them in her mind. Peter was wonderful, caring – but not confident. And Harry, for all his faults, Harry could _touch_ her. She wiped her eyes with her hands, feeling sick to her stomach.

Peter shouldn't have gone back over, he should have stayed with her. It wasn't a problem when she was with only one of them and she was sure – almost sure, at least 90 sure – that Peter was the one she wanted. Harry was too much like her for it to ever work, too self-centered, too highly strung, too needy for attention. Peter could give attention; but he couldn't give it to them both at the same time, she realized.

It was selfish, but she wanted him back, wanted him for her self. And it hurt, somehow, to see them close, to see them sharing something she couldn't understand and to want them both when she could only have one.

Back inside the penthouse, Harry tried to control his own breathing. He felt ashamed; even after everything, even knowing the mess it would cause, MJ was still beautiful enough to be a temptation. He sat, thoughts whirling, until Peter came back later that evening.

"Hey Harry." He set his back pack on the couch. "Did you get a lot done?"

"What?" Harry looked over. "Oh. Well, yeah. I guess."

"Okay." Peter nodded. "Do you want to do something about dinner?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe you should… you know, maybe you should spend a night with MJ, okay? You've been spending a lot of time over here, but now that I have the chair I can get on."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You should go spend time with her." He forced a smile. "It's rude not to call back the day after, you know."

Peter blushed and backed away. "Well if that's what you want…"

He shrank back, took his bag and left. And once he was gone, Harry slumped.

Maybe she was right. He was the problem, the conflict between them. If he were any kind of friend… As soon as he got the operation, he told himself. He'd gone months with barely seeing Peter before coming around. If he tried hard enough, whatever he felt would subside and at some point hopefully they would all move on, ideally with Peter none the wiser.

It hurt, though, thinking of his own inner conflicts and realizing he would have to distance himself from the two people he cared for most. But if he didn't, the consequences would be worse. It was his turn to be the responsible one. And even if it was all he could do for him, he wouldn't hurt Peter or let him down.

OOO


	6. Touch My Cheek Before You Leave Me

OOO

The doctor flipped through the pages of medical history and looked at the patient warily, then back to the MRI results.

"This says that you were admitted a couple months ago suffering from a severe case of head trauma."

"It was a drive-by," Peter supplied quickly.

"And then there are the scars on your face."

"A chemical accident," Harry chimed in. "Work-related. I wasn't taking proper safety precautions. But I managed to bandage those up myself."

"And now you have several badly torn ligaments in _both_ of your knees."

"We were playing football." Peter blushed. "Inside the house. And Harry, uh, kinda went down the stairs. It was an accident."

"Really, it was," Harry added.

"You can understand why I would be a little wary." The doctor looked from one boy to the other.

"Look, this isn't like me saying I walked into a door or anything like that. It really was an accident, nothing more." Harry was beginning to worry that they were sounding less than convincing.

"You have an awful lot of those, Mr. Osborn. What are you doing to put yourself in the way of so many 'accidents?'"

"I've got a dangerous job and I'm not very careful. Look, can you do the surgery or not?" He snapped.

"Of course I can. Shouldn't have waited though. Why did you wait? I can tell from the bone that it's been this way for a while."

"We didn't think it was important. Figured it might go away after a few days." Peter tried to keep his attention focused down on Harry so that the doctor wouldn't pick up on the lies. "It didn't get better so we thought we'd better come into the hospital."

"I assume you have insurance?" The doctor sighed as he took out the forms.

"I can cover it myself."

"This is quite an expensive…"

"I'll cover it!" Harry interrupted impatiently. "When's the soonest I can get my leg fixed?"

"We can pencil you in for next week. Given the multiple injuries you've sustained, we should probably do this as soon as possible, although I would like to stagger the two operations by at least a few weeks." He looked at Peter. "I take it you're helping him get around?"

"Yeah. We're managing."

"Good. See to it that he doesn't hurt himself worse until we can reconstruct those ligaments."

"Reconstruct? What are you going to do?" Harry looked at the doctor suspiciously.

"Probably removed some of your patellar tendon and use that to replace the damaged connective tissue. Don't worry, it's a perfectly common procedure and you should heal up from it nicely." He scribbled on a clipboard. "If you haven't managed to kill yourself by getting hit by a car or caught in an explosion between now and the operation, then trust me, you have nothing to worry about. Now pay attention; I'm going to give you a couple of leg braces. I need you to work your knees lightly, make sure nothing atrophies and that the swelling doesn't get too bad. Come in soon and you'll be back playing sports irresponsibly before you know it."

Peter squeezed Harry's shoulder in a show of reassurance and support and Harry tried to pretend that it was only the operation that had him flustered.

OOO

"Come on, Harry. You can do this. Use the wall for support if you need to." Peter watched him sway. "But you need to start working your knees so that they don't give out completely."

"You know, maybe it would be better if I got a physical therapist for this," Harry suggested. Peter looked hurt and he looked away. "I'm not saying you aren't doing all that you can. I'm only suggesting that this might be a little easier if I had a professional. You can't be expected to know everything. Besides, I'm sure you have people you should be out saving instead of worrying about my knees.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Peter asked quietly.

"What? Stalling when I know I should be working my knees?"

"Trying to get me out of here. Every time I come over you make excuses about wanting to be alone or suggest that I should be doing something else or tell me you're not up to exercising. Even last week when it was time for your first operation, you suggested taking a cab so that I didn't have to waste time taking you."

Harry shrugged and trying to feign nonchalance. "Well it's true, isn't it? You hardly have enough time to get everything done in the day as it is. I don't see why I should unnecessarily take up so much of it."

"Because you're my friend. I would make time for you." He followed Harry who sat down on the couch. "What's this really about? Have I done something I don't know about? Are you upset with me… is this about your scars?" Peter looked anxious to the point of fear. "I'm trying to make up for all of that but if it's bothering you…"

"It's not you," Harry sighed. "It's me." He leaned back on the couch and stared straight ahead, trying not to interpret what Peter's silence at the remark might mean.

"I don't understand," Peter finally said, looking at Harry who was still staring at the wall. "What about you? What's the matter, can't you tell me? If you don't want too tell me, that's alright though," he assured him.

"It's complicated," Harry told him in a quiet voice. "And I don't want to make you unhappy."

"Well vague statements are doing nothing to help that." Peter forced a laugh. "You're only making me think the worst. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than anything that's already passed between us and we got through all of that. Tell me," he persuaded. "Tell me the truth and I promise you it won't be that bad."

Harry's mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to figure out what to say, how to edit his own remarks. After all, there was truth and there was _truth_ and he couldn't imagine Peter knowing some of what he thought. What could he say to a best friend, how could he phrase that? 'I can't have you around because every time I see you I want to grab you and bend you over my desk?' 'You know those romantic comedies where someone doesn't know they love their best friend until they almost lose them?' 'Mind if we make out?'

"I'm still in love with MJ," was what he finally told Peter. "And it might be best and safest for you and her if I put some distance between myself and you guys."

Peter paled and Harry wondered what was running through his mind. But he pressed forward with his inquiry.

"I don't see what that does to us hanging out though. I mean, unless you feel guilty. Did something happen? I won't be mad but I want to know if something happened!" His tone bespoke his worry.

Which left Harry wrestling with the fact that he'd promised MJ he wouldn't tell and the fact that Peter deserved, he felt, to know where their relationship stood. In all senses of the terms. Too nice, just a little naïve, he almost invited infidelity but did nothing to merit it. It wasn't easy, Harry realized, trying to maintain fidelity to two friends whose purposes were at odds with one another. Easier when they had all been of a like mind, easier when united in their purpose, but wrenching when caring about one meant hurting the other.

"She visited and we… we had a moment," Harry phrased it, making the decision to shoulder the blame. Perhaps she was right and he was the problem, the only obstacle. He didn't want to wonder if she would use that excuse with other men later, but for the moment he felt personal acceptance the only solution that didn't hurt either of the only two people he had left. "It was my fault. She was here, looking for you, and I should have had her leave right away but I wanted her to stick around. It was… I'm sorry Peter," he whispered. "Like I said, better for everybody if there's distance."

Peter had paled and Harry felt his stomach clench. His friend looked like he'd been slapped in the face, but he was making an obvious effort to rein all of his emotions in and project calm. After a moment or two, however, he stood and averted his gaze.

"I think I… Harry, I've got to… I need to talk to MJ."

He bolted for the door and Harry did nothing to stop him, didn't even watch him leave. Feeling nauseated and somewhat frightened, he leaned back onto the couch and looked up at the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan slowly rotate. He grabbed a pillow from behind him and hugged it to his chest with a frustrated sigh.

No-win situations sucked.

OOO

The moment Mary Jane answered the door, she saw the look on Peter's face and her heart dropped.

"Harry said something, didn't he?" She murmured, feeling the crazy fear that came from knowing the shoe had finally dropped. "I'm sorry!" She held out her empty hands. "I didn't mean to back him into a corner like that, but he was… I'm sorry, Peter, I can't say it any better than that. I know it sounds like a cop out but I care about both of you, really I do." She looked down at the floor. "I suppose I'm making excuses," she whispered. "But I love both of you, for different reasons and… and it's so frightening to try and decide and worry whether you're making the wrong decision."

Peter looked at her as if he were trying to decide something. "Harry said it was his fault. He said he needed space because he was still attracted to you and it was making things awkward."

She glanced at Peter, eyes watery. "Harry's being a gentleman. I asked him not to… I didn't think he would say anything. And I suppose he didn't."

"He said you came over and he pushed you into staying. That what happened – though he never did say what exactly happened – was his fault."

"Of course he did. But that's not true." She sighed. "I came over and when you weren't there, didn't leave right away. I should have, but I did. And I tried to explain and I suggested…" She chewed her lip. "I suggested that he leave us alone."

"You blamed him?" Peter looked at her, more confused than angry.

"I shouldn't have done that. And I'm sorry," she murmured. "But I'll take responsibility for it, for what I told him and what I said and did. I thought that if we were going to get married, maybe that would be reason to stick with a decision one way or the other. But that would only make the problem, the confusion worse, wouldn't it? Because then it would hurt you even more and it would be even more trapping…" She leaned against the door jamb. "I apologize Pete. You didn't do anything, it's my own messed up life."

"MJ…"

"Please," she sighed. "Don't at me like that. I wish you would be angry, but you're not are you? Just sad." She smiled ruefully.

"I loved you. Love you." He stepped away from the door.

"Better that this comes out now, then, isn't it?" She suggested hopefully. "So neither of makes a mistake. Before it's too late."

"We can work this out!" He pressed, though unconvincingly.

"I slept with him, Peter. You can pretend it didn't happen, maybe, but I can't. And right now I don't really know what I feel. You were right; I do need time. And if you decide to step away from this whole mess, I wouldn't blame you."

Peter stretched out his hand and looked like he was about to touch her, but then let it drop.

"I need to check on Harry," he said, bolting like there was a fire.

"Of course you do," she sighed, closing the door.

OOO

Harry was still lying on the couch when Peter's face appeared above him.

"I talked to Mary Jane."

"Oh."

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" There was hurt and a hint of betrayal. "You could have told me the truth."

"I didn't want to hurt you. Or her."

"And you thought a lack of trust would be better."

"It's complicated. I didn't know… this was the best I could do." He sat up. "I'm only trying to protect you."

"Don't treat me like that," Peter said flatly. "Like I'm a kid who needs shielding. You're my friend, not a parent. I'd rather you be honest than anything else and let me worry about how I'm supposed to feel." He tried to glare, though he suspected the attempt fell short. "Was that all there was? She came over and it was awkward and she backed you up and tried to tell you about how she felt? Is that all there is to this whole mess?"

Harry hesitated. "No."

"Then tell me Harry."

"You're going to be… I can't."

"Tell me," Peter insisted. "If you're my friend, be a friend."

Harry paused, mentally weighing options. Peter didn't know what honest meant and he could only keep a handle on matters for so long and then Peter would find out regardless and be hurt and upset over the lies and maybe if Mary Jane owned to her deception herself things were falling apart and maybe his chances weren't so different, which was a selfish thought but he couldn't help it and he didn't want to deceive Peter, not really, even if it all was going to end in disaster…

He stood up and kissed Peter, slight pressure on his lips, not enough to make them part very much. Peter slid his hands up to Harry's jaw, pulling them close for a moment as he felt his flesh, felt the scars.

"I don't want to be a hypocrite," Harry said looking at Peter in the eyes. "I understand how she feels, even if I wouldn't want to act on it. But you pressed, you wanted to know. So there it is."

Peter let go and shrank back, flushing, thoughts tumbling over one another.

"I need… I mean… Harry, what was… I need to go!" He brushed his fingers over his lips and then hurried out of the room, leaving Harry staring at the doorway.

"Crap." He groaned and flopped back on the couch. "Damn it Peter. I _knew_ that was going to happen."

OOO


	7. My Lover, Not My Rival

~*~

Peter tried to sneak into the apartment as quickly as he could, but it was to no avail. His foot fell on the squeaky step and Ursula popped out of the door of her father's apartment before he had time to twitch. She stood at the top of the steps and held out a fistful of paper scraps, each with various scribbles on them. Peter didn't even need to look at them to surmise what they would say.

"Your friends called again," she told Peter in a bright but confused tone. "Two from Mary Jane, three from the boy. Do you want the messages?"

Peter kept his face carefully blank. "Yeah, I guess." He crammed the paper into his pockets and got to work on jimmying open his door.

"Why aren't you calling them back?" Ursula asked from behind him.

He turned his face just slightly so he could see her out of the corner of his vision. "It's complicated."

"They sound like they really miss you." When he didn't say anything, she pressed forward. "If I had friends like Mary Jane I wouldn't want to lose them. She's very pretty, you know," she told Peter with a note of jealousy in her voice.

"Yes, I know." Peter sighed and kicked the door. He glowered at it in silence for a moment, while Ursula watched him.

"Do you want a cookie?" She asked timidly.

He gritted his teeth and kicked the door, which finally creaked open. Turning around, he looked at her in a defeated way, his shoulders slumping as though she had eventually worn him down.

"Sure, why not?" He sighed with resignation.

He sat on his bed while she brought in the familiar chipped plate of cookies and milk. Peter took one without comment and Ursula studied his face, watching him chew and waiting for him to make the first move.

"I think I messed up," he finally said after polishing off the dessert.

"Did you have another fight?"

"Kind of. I don't… I have a decision to make and I don't know how to make it. I just keep putting it off and putting it off, and now I'm afraid that it's been so long they'll both be mad at me…"

"Maybe you should read the messages." She pointed to the pocket of his coat, which was draped across the room's single chair with the messages poking out. "They don't sound angry. They sound sad."

"I keep hurting them." His shoulders hunched. "And now everything is so messed up, I don't know if I can make things right."

"Shouldn't you at least talk to them though? Nothing can get better if you don't do anything."

"But anything I do… how do you make a decision between your two best friends? How do you pick which one you care about more?"

"Do you _have_ to decide?" Ursula asked uncertainly.

Peter didn't say anything and instead took another cookie. He chewed slowly while Ursula looked out of the window, sitting in silence. As he finished, Ursula stood up.

"I'm sorry," she apologized and ducked her head. "You probably want me to leave."

She picked up the plate and the empty glass and headed for the door. As she shut the door behind her, Peter lay back down on his bed and looked up at the chipping ceiling, making invisible ledgers with his mind. He ached inside and wanted to put off the decision and not think about it. But every day he didn't make a choice, the conflict only further filled his thoughts.

Sitting up, he reached for the messages and flipped through them, then got out of the rest of the unread messages he'd crammed into his desk drawer. Setting them out on his sheets, he sifted them into two piles and read each of them over carefully. Some were inquiries, some were flat out begging, but all of them twisted his insides and made him feel awful.

Taking a breath, he tried to condense it down in some way to logic, consider the options and what the ramifications of any decision would be. He could return to Mary Jane and try to patch up the infidelity. He could try to convince Harry that they could just be friends. More drastically, he could examine his own feelings and see if they weren't, in fact, reciprocal. He could reduce everything to friendship between all of them and look to date somebody else all together, maybe see about Gwen. He could remain cut off from each of them for good and pretend that he didn't know either of them; but that was a decision that became less appealing with each subsequent day alone.

Finally, he pulled on his jacket and swept all of the messages off of his bed and into the garbage. Hoping to avoid another conversation, he took the fire escape down to the street and allowed his feet to guide him along a path instinctively chosen.

~*~

Harry came home to the same darkened penthouse that he'd left to go to his physical therapy session, still using a crutch for one of his legs. He locked the elevator door, walked down the hall and into the great room to get started on work. But when he reached the entrance, he stopped short.

"Missed you," Peter murmured.

Harry wanted to run but was root to the spot and afraid that his legs wouldn't let him. Peter crossed the distance slowly, shyly, making Harry muscles twitch in anticipation of Peter's touch. When it finally happened and Peter's body was within reach of his, Harry pulled and squeezed like he was attempting to crush the life out of him, letting the crutch fall to the side.

"I called."

"Yeah, I know."

"You had me worried. Scared."

"I'm a little scared myself right now."

"Peter, I'm not sure I want the answer. But would you mind very much if I kissed you again?"

"You don't have to ask my permission, Harry." He set his forehead against the other's neck.

"Good." He pressed on his mouth again, harder this time than before, more _confidently_ than before. "Because I really, _really_ wanted to." Peter blushed and Harry backed away a little bit. "I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I? I'm not trying to."

"No, no, I'm just… I really never thought about this. Like I said, I'm a little bit scared."

"Of me?" Harry looked worried. "Anything I did fighting you, hurting you, that's in the past…"

"Not that. Just scared. What will people think?" He looked anxious. "How do I explain this to Aunt May, to MJ, to myself?"

"Come on buddy." Harry ruffled his hair. "Aunt May is going to care about you no matter what. But what you think about yourself, that's something you have the answer to. Why did you come here in the first place?"

"I thought about stuff." Peter loosened his grip and looked down. "I thought a lot about you and our history and our friendship and how it felt when you kissed me the first time. I couldn't see going on without you being there. It was bad enough when we were fighting; thinking about losing you for good hurt too much."

"But what made the difference between friendship and… and this?"

"I've thought about that." He shook his head. "But I don't have an answer. Not a clear one. Only feelings, only the thought that it felt good and right and I didn't know what I'd do without you and I didn't think friendship even would have been good enough, after everything." He held onto Harry's shirt and looked into his eyes. "Is that answer enough?"

"Any answer that brought you back here is good enough for me." Harry grinned. "But is there any chance I could sit down? All this standing makes my legs feel like they're going to give on me."

"Sorry!" Peter gasped and reflexively lifted Harry up and toted him over to the couch.

"I was just going to walk," he laughed. "But this works too."

"Are you getting better?" Peter asked anxiously as he sat down beside Harry and passed him pillows. "How are your visits to the doctors going? Are you going to be alright?"

"Well enough. I have another operation in a couple of days and after that it's all up to me making sure that I stay on track and work my legs so that I retain my mobility."

"Thank goodness." Peter draped his arms around Harry's neck, but Harry remained oddly stiff.

"We still haven't really talked about one thing, though." He looked down at Peter. "Mary Jane."

"Mary Jane," Peter sighed. "I didn't want to make a choice. I liked it when you were both my friends." He lay down on Harry's lap and looked up at him. "Do you think she'll even want to be friends after this? Do you think that will change since we're apparently, you know…"

"Together?" Peter nodded and Harry shrugged. "Dunno, Pete. That's up to her. If I had to guess, she'll probably feel a little bit disappointed, a little bit hurt."

"And what about us? Do you think if she's around, we're going to… I still care about her. I came to you first because I'm comfortable with you, because I knew better what to do with you while I still don't know what to do about her. But at the end of it all, I still _care_."

"Preaching to the choir, Peter." He sighed. "Crap, I don't know. We should probably at least try and talk to her."

"That's what Ursula told me."

"Who?"

"The girl who takes the messages at my apartment."

"Oh. That's who that is." He shifted. "And I know we're not having this conversation now, but you're moving out of that place and I'm not going to listen to you say no. You're coming here if I have to move you out myself while you're at class and have you come home to find all of the locks changed and your stuff in here."

"Harry…"

"But back to MJ." He groaned. "Really a mess, isn't it?"

"I don't want to be mad at her. I can kind of… now I can understand her confusion. It's scary to have this life-changing decision in front of you and you don't know what to do or how to make the choice and whatever you do there's always this worry that there's going to be regret. I don't know how you pick and feel like you did the right thing."

"Well you could always avoid everybody's calls and pretend that it isn't happening." Harry gave him a rueful smile and dipped to kiss him on his temple. "There's always that."

"Sorry," Peter whispered. There was a buzzing, vibrating sound and Peter sat up. "I think that's your phone. I _hope_ that's your phone."

"It is." Harry rolled his eyes. "If this is anybody from OsCorp… oh."

"What?"

"Well, Pete, it looks like we don't have to approach her after all." He looked over the top of the phone. "It's MJ."

"Are you going to answer it?" Peter murmured.

"Yeah, I guess." He pressed the button. "Hello? MJ… Mary Jane, you're going to have to slow… I can't understand…" He fell silent and listened for a while.

"What's going on?" Peter mouthed.

"Dunno," Harry replied silently. "Okay, you can come over. Yeah. See you soon."

"What was that about?" Peter looked at the phone in Harry's hand.

"I honestly have no idea. She was really worked up though and kept crying. I could hardly understand a word of what she was saying. But she's coming over, though, so I guess we'll learn pretty shortly."

"Maybe I should leave." Peter stood up reflexively.

"No, Pete." Harry grabbed his wrist. "You've been running for a few weeks now and it's not going to get any better until we all face this. Alright? No more ducking out of windows Pete. Time to face this, for better or worse."

Peter's arm went slack and he sat back down. "I feel sick."

"Welcome to the club. But if we don't get this cleared up it will hang over our heads forever and we'll never be ble to move forward or build any kind of solid relationship. If that's what we're doing. If it's what you want."

"It's what you want, right? Mostly."

"Well, yeah, I think that…" There was a ding. "That's her."

"How'd she get over here so fast?" Peter paled.

"She must have called from really close by."

"Maybe you should get the door." Peter clutched the couch cushions. "You know, ease her into this slowly."

"Come on, Pete. No more excuses. I'm the one with the bad legs and you want me to do this all on my own?"

"You said they were getting better!" Peter protested as he handed Harry his crutch.

"They are, but that doesn't mean I don't want support – physical or moral. Look, if we do this together…"

"… she can be mad at both of us?"

"Don't think so negatively." Harry pressed the button to buzz the elevator up and unlocked the metal door to it. "Don't even know why I locked the thing," he muttered.

"What do we say?"

"Maybe let her talk first. I mean, she obviously had something to tell us."

"Or you."

"How do you know she didn't call your place too?"

The arrival of the elevator silenced them and a red-eyed Mary Jane appeared when the door parted. She stepped out of the door with a stumbling motion and looked between the two before bursting into a fresh wave of tears that she daubed with a crumpled tissue.

"Mary Jane?" Harry murmured and reached for her, touching her uncertainly on the shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Peter flanked her on the other side, a bit frightened to see her so upset – more than she had been after the battle, more than almost any time he'd seen her.

She looked down at the floor, taking in an unsteady breath. "I'm pregnant," she whispered. "And I'm _sorry_."

~*~


	8. Open Up Your Loving Arms

~*~

"Whoa. Pregnant. _Well_. That's a… that's a shock," Harry stammered. "Not that I'm not going to step up and help you and the kid! Of course I'm going to do that. If you keep it. I mean, I don't mind if you do, I'd like it but it's totally up to…"

"How do you know it's yours?" Peter interrupted, albeit in a quiet tone while looking at the floor.

"What?"

"Well, I… we… we, you know, _did it_ too." He lifted his head a little, blushing.

"Well… that's… alright, fine." Harry looked at Mary Jane. "Whose is it?"

"How should I know?" She blushed as well, but more in agitation than embarrassment like Peter. "It's not like I have some kind of automatic sensor that tells me these things!"

"Well can't you get something to _tell?_" Harry pressed. "There are tests, I know there are. They have those baby-daddy specials on talk shows all the time."

"I don't know." She paled. "Maybe. I don't know if the pregnancy has to be a certain number of weeks along. I mean, I'm sure we could tell once the child was _born_."

"Doesn't matter." Harry shook his head. "Don't worry. I can take care of it."

"What does that mean?" Peter turned on him with wide eyes.

"Pete, you can barely pay your rent. Even if you did contribute to the kid's genetic make-up, there's no way you can pay for the kid. Clothing, schooling, food, all those things cost money. And I have a lot of that."

"So you can just buy my kid?" Peter looked a little offended and a little panicked.

"You don't know he's yours!" Harry turned towards MJ. "And I thought you were on the pill anyway!"

"Things have been stressful," she blushed. "I've been missing days with… with everything. It's hard to remember stuff like that when you're getting kidnapped and fired and dumped left and right!" She countered. "It's not like I meant to forget!"

"Like you didn't mean to sleep with both of us," Harry countered.

"You were there too," she pointed out.

"Stop!" Peter held out his hands. "This is… look, MJ, I have no problem with… with… I mean…" he looked at Harry.

"With what?" Harry demanded.

"Harry, I know we've shared something, but if I'm going to have a child…"

"_Shared_ something?" Mary Jane interrupted. "What are you two talking about?"

"Before you came over…" Peter started to explain.

"You don't _know_ it's your kid!" Harry blurted. "Maybe _I_ should be the one marrying her!"

"You can't… you were the one who kissed me first! You weren't even engaged to her and now you want to marry her?" Peter could feel his agitation uncharacteristically rising. "At least we were _engaged!_"

"You still haven't told me what you mean by shared something!" MJ looked between them furiously.

Peter flushed. "Harry and I… I mean, we've been friends for ages and granted I never thought it was a deep as it was but we might have… maybe we kissed a little but that doesn't mean…"

"GREAT!" She screamed. "Two possible fathers and they're both more interested in doing each other than helping me!"

"Well that's a selfish way to put it," Harry snapped.

"You're not the pregnant one!"

"Good! Because if I was, I'd be acting as crazy as you are right now!"

"Harry!" Peter looked mortified. "And we didn't do anything, we only talked a little… I mean, we _kissed_, sure, but we both still care about you MJ. We don't want to hurt you, we just weren't sure about what we should… or who… it's complicated."

"You're telling me this?" She glared, and then without warning started to sob.

"Oh great," Harry moaned and rolled his eyes. "Told you. Crazy."

"Not helping, Harry!" Peter touched her shoulders. "And you were talking about marrying her?"

"I'm more financially stable and that's the truth!"

"And what about emotional stability!"

"What about the fact that I'm not going to go running out at night and end up getting killed by some guy who can shoot lightning at me or is wearing some bizarre acid firing appendage or something like that! Is that what you want for MJ's kid? Are you really ready for the responsibility that a kid is going to bring?"

"Is anybody?"

"This isn't rhetorical!" Harry burst out. "I am more than you!"

MJ, still sobbing into Peter's shoulder turned. "Stop it! I just… please tell me this is going to be alright." She sniffed. "I don't know what to do. I don't… I need to think."

"Great room. Couch. Let's go." Harry moved slowly on the crutches, while Peter, hindered by Mary Jane, kept pace.

For a while, the only sound was that of Mary Jane crying. They sat close together, but kept looking at one another then glancing away, unsure about where to focus, who to look at or who to address. Finally, it was Harry who broke the silence.

"You know, there is one think we could do."

There was silence for a few moments until Peter replied.

"Yeah? What?"

"You like me, right?"

"Yeah." Peter held MJ a little tighter. "I do."

"And I like you. And we both like Mary Jane. And she likes the both of us. I think." He looked down at her. "Right? You like us?"

She looked up at him, her eyes still watering. "Harry, are you suggesting…"

"Just give it a fair hearing." He swallowed. "Nobody has to get married or start a fight or set us against each other or anything like that. Pete, you don't have to stop being Spidey because we can take care of the things that you can't. And MJ, you don't have to keep worrying about making a decision you're going to regret."

"And you?" Peter asked Harry. "What do you get?"

"I get to stop worrying about being the odd man out and ending up alone." He shifted closer to Mary Jane, snaking his hand around her back so that it was resting against Peter. "We can all stop playing this games and messing with each other's minds and just… just _relax_ for once."

"What about the kid?" Peter asked.

"No tests. We don't find out and then we can think whatever gets us through. Pretend its mind or yours or whatever. I mean, if we knew, it isn't like we wouldn't love the kid anyway. I mean, if it was yours I'd be the godparent, right? And vice versa."

"What if I don't have the kid?" MJ postulated.

"Are you not going to?" Harry looked down.

She sniffed. "I've always wanted to be a mom. Maybe not this soon, but… I'm going to have the kid."

"Then it works. Neither of us has everything, but with both of us, well, Pete and I would make a pretty good dad together, right?"

MJ managed to laugh a little. "Yeah, I guess you would."

"Good. Then we can cut the crap that comes from going back and forth and trying to make decisions and then making other decisions by making the decision not to make one." He paused. "And I really hope you guys agree because frankly I'm not sure I have the energy to keep arguing and discussing this and going back and forth about whose cheating with whom."

"You're really serious, aren't you?" Mary Jane looked at him with dry but still-red eyes.

"As a supervillain attack."

"It wouldn't be easy," she sighed. "Every time one of us has a fight with another – and we're _going_ to have fights with each other – we're going to try to use the third against the other."

"Can't be worse than any of the fights we've already had. If you think about it," Harry point out in a lazy voice. "Pete? You're awfully quiet over there. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I'd have a tough time explaining this to Aunt May. To _anybody_."

"And that's it?" There was worry in Harry's tone.

"No. I'm also thinking that as weird as this sounds, it might, _might_ be the best solution." He looked at one then the other. "Does that make sense? Because it's sounding good in my head, but in the kind of way that something that sounds good in your head could turn out to be an absolute disaster later on."

"I'll repeat, any more of a disaster than any of the previous ones?" Harry looked at him. "We tried to blow each other up over this."

"Well, this and your dad," Peter added.

"Yeah, but also this." Harry sighed. "I mean, I'll understand if you're just too weirded out by this. Or if you have some kind of deep-rooted moral objection to the whole idea. But I love you both and I don't know what I'd do without either of you. And if you want me to go away, I can make myself live with that, if it would make you happy. Ask yourself, though, if _you_ would be happier that way. Because I'm not. Even with one, I think about the other."

He fell silent and waited until finally Peter nodded. "Me too."

Mary Jane said nothing, but moved in closer to Peter and tugged on Harry so that he would follow suit. "So who gets to name the kid?" She asked once there were all comfortably settled.

"I've got some straws in the kitchen," Harry offered. "You know, if it comes down to that."

~*~

Harry whistled as he cut the box open with quick, cutting motions.

"You're awfully cheerful," Peter remarked as he carried in another box marked 'shirts.'

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?" Harry pulled out an alarm clock and a stack of jeans. "Operation went well. Physical therapy is going well." He stood up and pulled Peter towards him by the waist. "Same for my love life." He leaned in and kissed Peter.

"Stop that," Peter said, making a play of pushing him away.

"You embarrass so easily," Harry laughed.

"Cute, isn't it?" Mary Jane added, walking into the room. "He does that all the time. Always has." She walked up behind him and gave him a hug.

"Great," Peter muttered. "Now there's twice the amount of people to pick on me." There was a beeping in the corner and Peter pulled himself away from the sandwich.

"What going on?" Harry turned.

"Police radio. I've got it on the highest setting so this has to be something…" He fiddled with the knobs and leaned in to listen for a moment, then stood up straight. "Gotta go."

"What's happening? What's going on?" Mary Jane asked as he began taking off his shirt and pants to reveal the spandex underneath.

"Nothing good," he muttered. "Convict broke out, somebody by the name of Cletus Cassidy."

"Cassidy?" Harry frowned. "That name sounds familiar."

"It should," Peter said as he took his mask out of a drawer and pulled it on. "He killed over a dozen people before they put him away the last time."

He was out the door right after that, leaving Mary Jane and Harry standing around in the midst of a bunch of boxes in various stages of being unpacked.

"I hate this," Mary Jane sighed. "I shouldn't. He's being selfless. People need him. But I _do_."

Harry gave her shoulder a squeeze. "At least now we can worry together."

"And when your leg is better?" She looked up at him. "Are you going to follow him out into the night, leave me at home with twice the worry?"

"Leave him out there without protection I could offer when he might need it?" Harry asked quietly.

"I know." She looked down. "You two… you make me feel so selfish."

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to… anyway." He kissed her temple. "We'll talk about it when I get better. In the meanwhile, we'd better try to get all this cleared off the bed and get the room in some state of order. He's probably going to want sleep when he gets back."

"I know, I know." She sighed and started putting clothing into drawers.

Harry walked up behind her, pressed his hands down on his shoulders and held her. "It scares me too," he admitted. "What he does. Especially because I've felt first hand how thin the line between life and death is. But it's part of who _he_ is. He wouldn't be the same if he didn't do this. Would you really want that? Would that really be the Peter we love?"

"No," she whispered. "I wouldn't."

"Me neither," he agreed before going back to unpacking.

~*~

A/N: Another addition to the anniversary flux of updates. Feels like the pace might be a little fast on this fic, but I didn't want to draw it out too much. Hope you enjoyed and, as usual, reviews are appreciated.


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